


While You're At It, Keep the Nightlight On

by SaunterVaguely



Series: Birdhouse In Your Soul [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crowley is Uncertain, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fingerfucking, M/M, Rimming, Sam is a Sweetheart, Strap-Ons, Trans Crowley, Trans Male Character, kind of, only vaguely angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-09 20:12:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaunterVaguely/pseuds/SaunterVaguely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Started off as a drabble and grew from there: Crowley and Sam have been dancing around each other for a while now, and when things heat up Crowley has something he needs to talk about.<br/>Based off my trans!Crowley headcanons on tumblr, AU after Road Trip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not To Put Too Fine A Point On It

  
Crowley's in the kitchen, scowling as he attempts to chop celery with a dull butter-knife (the only blade he's been allowed use of by Dean "Paranoia" Winchester). Sam watches from the doorway (another rule laid down by Dean- Crowley's allowed out of the basement only with supervision, and allowed in the kitchen only when Dean's not cooking) as the demon tosses a few cubes of the rough-cut vegetable into the simmering pot on the stove and gives it a stir. He glances around the hallway, reassuring himself that Dean's not around at the moment, and steps into the kitchen. Crowley glances back at him over one shoulder, arching a brow and smirking up at the man towering over him.  
  
"Smells good," Sam says, resting one hand companionably against the back of Crowley's neck.  
  
The former king of hell hums, pleased, and dips a spoon into the pot, offering Sam a taste of the rich soup. The human leans down to try it, not missing the way Crowley's eyes focus on his mouth as he purses it around the spoon. There's almost always been a sort of flirty edge to their interactions, usually on Crowley's end, but in the time since they partially "cured" the demon and brought him into the bunker, Sam's returned the banter more and more. He can't help it- he sees in Crowley the same thing he's seen in himself, ugly and damaged and fighting to right itself. He's seen Crowley take a beating for him when the demon could have easily turned and run. He may not be entirely changed, but he is changing.  
  
They've kissed a few times, but that's as far as they've gone; Crowley tends to be surprisingly reticent when it comes to intimate moments. The moment Sam's hands wander downward, Crowley will pull back and make some sort of comment, saying he hears Dean in the hallway or that whatever he's cooking will burn, and slip away. Sam's not an asshole- he's not going to force anything, and he doesn't ask questions when Crowley feels the need to back off. He knows from personal experience that any amount of time in hell is enough to mess a guy up, let alone four hundred years.  
  
Crowley pulls his hand back, replacing the spoon with his lips against Sam's, and the hunter makes a pleasantly surprised sound, tilting his head into the kiss. They part and Crowley purses his lips, looking contemplative. "Needs a bit more pepper."  
  
Sam laughs and watches the demon-turned-mostly-human sprinkle in the pepper, leaning against the counter. Crowley gives the soup a final stir, switches off the burner, and turns to face the taller man. "So. Dean's out and about, then?"  
  
Sam nods, shrugging. "Yeah, he went into town with Cas. I'm not really clear on whether they went to get groceries or to a bar."  
  
"Aren't they ultimately the same thing?" Crowley asks with a smirk, and Sam snorts another laugh. There's a brief pause, and then the dark-haired man is stepping forward, fingers catching hold of the collar of Sam's shirt and tugging him down for another kiss, this time more heat than teasing. Sam hums and hooks his own fingers around the loop of the apron Crowley's wearing, just holding on for the moment. Their bodies sway into each other with each breath, close and warm from the heat of the stove. Sam's other hand fits itself against the small of Crowley's back, and the demon slides his palms up and around the hunter's sides, coming to rest on either side of his spine. Crowley is a really damn good kisser, which, well, makes sense- crossroads deals- and soon Sam is breathing hard every time their mouths part, biting at the other man's lips, hungry and greedy. Crowley meets him every time, devouring, the stubble on his jaw scraping Sam's chin and leaving a tingling trail.  
  
One or both of them leans a bit too far and they go stumbling back, out of the kitchen and into the hallway, bumping against the wall and Crowley presses up against Sam's chest, pushing him harder into the solid surface. Sam groans and arches his back as Crowley's mouth works its way down his throat, sucking red marks into the skin. He rolls them along the wall, so that Crowley is the one pinned, and bucks against the firm leg that the demon slides against his crotch.  
  
"Shit," Crowley mutters, breaking away. "Look, before this goes... where I'd quite like it to go, I've got something I should tell you."  



	2. Say I'm The Only Bee In Your Bonnet

This one's a longer chapter! Full of porn! Many porn.

~~~

 

 

  
Sam steps back a little, concern in his eyes, and Crowley snags his shirt, drags him along into the bedroom for a little more privacy. He pauses in front of the bed and takes a breath, centering himself, as Sam watches patiently with a cautiously curious expression.  
"So, look, I haven't exactly always been-" He gestures to himself, sweeping a hand up and down over his torso. "-like this."  
Sam cocks his head. "Um. Not to be obtuse or anything, but... duh?"  
"No, I mean- this isn't how I used to look."  
"I know," Sam nods. "You were a Scottish guy with, uh, athletic calves, right? We dug up your bones, remember?"  
He does remember, very well, and thank god neither of them are forensics experts or they'd have realized his secret long ago. "Right. That's... well, not entirely inaccurate. I was indeed Scottish, and I did have very lovely strong calves, but I was not... perhaps... quite so much..." He trails off into an awkward mumble, and Sam leans forward, frowning, trying to hear. Crowley sighs and makes another effort, more direct this time. "I wasn't born a man."  
Sam blinks. "Oh," he sounds genuinely surprised, but not disgusted or uncomfortable. "So- are you- do you prefer-"  
"I'm a man now," Crowley snaps automatically, then winces and closes his eyes briefly, correcting himself. "I- dammit- I'd prefer to be referred to as male. Please."  
"Okay," Sam says easily, like it's no big deal. He smiles hesitantly, adding, "Thanks for telling me, and I really appreciate your trust, seriously." He leans in again to kiss Crowley's temple, soft and sweet, before continuing. "But, well, are you bringing this up now because you just wanted me to know, or because there's something else?"  
"The second one," Crowley says heavily, slumping. "I've been a man for- a long time, since I made my original crossroads deal. But when the whole 'cleansing' thing happened, it sort of- mucked things up. Magic is a fickle little shit, and since the job was only half-done it played all sorts of havoc. Sort of undid a few things, reverted here and there."  
Sam looks simultaneously guilty and curious. "So you've got- what exactly is-?"  
"Nothing's gone," Crowley says quickly. "Things just... aren't what they should be."  
The hunter squints, looking thoughtful. "Would you... do you think you'd be comfortable showing me?"  
The demon bites his lip, shrugs. "Yes, alright." Now seems as good a time as any.  
He undoes his fly, struggles less-than-gracefully out of his trousers and shirt, and tosses them aside. He glances up, fingers on the band of his underwear, and sees Sam watching him with laser-like intensity. The long-haired human's eyes are darkened with anticipation, and his tongue swipes across his lips, unconsciously. Ridiculously, Crowley feels himself blushing, and his hands fumble with the fabric, halting. "Um. I'm not entirely sure what you're expecting, but-"  
"I'm not expecting anything," Sam protests, brows furrowing.  
"This isn't going to be like being with a woman, Sam." Crowley says firmly, warily.  
"I'm not- Crowley, I know that-"  
"Or the men you fooled around with at university."  
Sam goes pink at that, but doesn't bother asking how Crowley knows about that. He shakes his head. "Crowley, if you don't wanna do this-"  
"I'm fine." He sits down on the bed, still avoiding the other man's gaze.  
Sam sighs and shuffles closer, clearing his throat. "Okay, yeah, this won't be my first time with a guy. This won't even be my first time with a demon," he allows.  
"Really know how to make a fellow feel special, don't you?" Crowley mutters. Sam catches his chin in one big hand, meets his eyes and goes on.  
"But this will be my first time with you, Crowley, and I'm not going into it with any expectations or- or judgements. I don't want you afraid that I'm comparing you to other people, okay? I'm not."  
Crowley narrows his eyes, but his mouth twists up into a crooked grin. "You're very smooth at this whole seduction thing, Moose. You'd have made a decent crossroads demon."  
Instead of looking insulted, Sam laughs aloud (a glorious sound) and ducks down for a kiss, still chuckling as their lips meet. "I dunno, that would mean I'd have to work for you and I've heard it's a bad idea to date your boss."  
"Well, now, that idea could have all sorts of possibilities," Crowley mumbles against Sam's jaw, eyes half-shut. He kisses the hunter again, cutting off any response, and slides his own hands back down to his underwear, tugging them off his hips and kicking them away. When the kiss ends, Sam leans back and looks him up and down.  
From the waist up, he looks the same as he has for years: stocky, somewhat barrel-chested, with strong arms and a soft belly. His chest has a dusting of hairs that dwindle downward, then pick up in a trail under his bellybutton, toward the thick dark thatch of curls between his legs.  
His cock- he's not calling it a clit, changes or no changes- is a reddened, slick nub that peeps out from the tangle of pubic hair, firm and plumped with blood. It's not quite as hard as it's capable of being, nerves and anxiety being something of a mood-killer.  
He takes a breath and glances upward to see Sam still watching him, expression a mix of arousal and hesitation. The hunter swallows audibly and asks, voice low and one hand reaching out, "Can I-?"  
Crowley nods.  
Sam doesn't immediately reach downward, which is a bit of a relief, but instead lets his palms follow the slope of a shoulder, the curve of his ribcage, fingertips skating over the hair on his chest. His touch is warm, welcome, and surprisingly soothing, and Crowley finds himself melting into it. His own hands drift up, working at the buttons of Sam's shirt, and the taller man chuckles and shrugs out of it. Crowley actually growls a little at the sight of the hunting-honed body laid out before him, and he grabs at Sam's hips, yanks him into another kiss.  
They do that for a long while, slowly mapping one another with their hands while their mouths are occupied, and soon they've tumbled back onto the bed, laid out and tangled in each other. The first touch to Crowley's cock almost comes as a surprise by that point, and he shivers from head to toe at the light brush of fingertips. Sam's digits circle around the sensitive head a few times, getting the feel of things, and then the pad of his thumb presses gently against the slit on the underside and Crowley moans shakily. He hears a sharp intake of breath, and then Sam is grinding against his thigh, thumb working in small, steady rotations that drag more noises out into the air.  
"God, you're so-" Sam's voice is a sultry murmur as he kisses urgently at Crowley's cheeks, lips and throat. "-so fucking _sexy_ , fuck." He keeps mumbling filthy compliments as he works his way down to nip at Crowley's chest.  
Crowley tries to come up with a little dirty talk of his own, something blush-worthy, but all that comes out of his mouth is a ragged, desperate, " _Sam_." Over and over he gasps out the hunter's name, until the word becomes nonsensical on his tongue.  
Sam groans in response, the noise vibrating against Crowley's stomach, and lifts his head enough to pant out once more, "Can I?"  
The ex-king of hell can't do anything but nod, because if he opens his mouth again he's going to start begging uncontrollably.  
He feels Sam's teeth against his hipbone, and he has just enough time to connect what's about to happen in his mind before it's happening, and his mind more or less blanks after that. Sam's tongue replaces his thumb, stroking up the slick bottom of his prick once, twice, before wrapping his lips around it and _sucking_ , and Crowley cries out, arching up.  
Gun-roughened fingers stroke up and down his thighs, and Crowley grabs frantically at Sam's hair, gripping it like a lifeline when the tugging earns him a low moan that thrums against him. "Oh f-f-fuck," Crowley stammers out, toes curling as his orgasm rocks through him. He strains upward, joints popping and teeth sinking into his lip as it floods him, crests and breaks inside him and leaves him a shuddering, insensate puddle on the sheets.  
Sam keeps mouthing at him, tonguing gently through the mess between his legs until Crowley makes a tiny whimpery sound of oversensitized pleasure. The hunter sits up, grinning and wiping at the wet, slippery shine smeared all over his lips and chin.  
"Bollocks," Crowley says finally, voice a raspy croak, "I'm not normally that- quick. You know. Just. Been a while." He drapes an arm over his eyes, hoping Sam will write off the flush of his cheeks as exertion.  
"Hmmm, pretty flattering," Sam says as he crawls up Crowley's body (which doesn't take long, given their height difference) to nuzzle behind his ear. The demon huffs and swats at him, batting long hair out of his face, then sits up.  
"Right, get your kecks off."  
Sam blinks. "What?"  
Crowley raises a brow. "Your trousers. Take them off."  
"Oh!" Sam starts wriggling out of his pants- the fly is already undone, and he was likely touching himself while he was blowing Crowley, if the wet patch on the front of his underwear is anything to go on. That thought makes Crowley grin as Sam kicks off his pants and slides out of his boxers, and then the hunter is gloriously naked and laid out before him.  
Crowley takes a few moments to commit to memory the sight of Sam, perfect and sweaty and squirming a little as he lays there, cock thick and hard against his stomach. He takes a shaky breath when Crowley leans down and licks a line of sweat from his stomach, following it up to his left nipple and teasing at it with teeth and tongue.  
Sam watches the dark head of hair move lower and lower along his torso, feels his cock twitch in anticipation and spreads his legs a little more to allow Crowley more access. He sees the wet flash of Crowley's tongue dart out and his head falls back against the pillows, eyes fluttering shut, only to snap open again when he feels the hot press of that tongue- not on his erection, but lower, licking into him dark and intimate where he's definitely never been licked before. He lets out a strangled groan, planting his feet and shoving his hips up into the sensation of Crowley's mouth eating at him, greedy for more.  
Crowley keeps licking and lapping and pulling all sorts of interesting sounds from the hunter, until he's loose enough to take a finger, Crowley working slowly and patiently while he sucks at the skin behind Sam's balls. He slides it a little deeper and smirks at the shout he gets when he finds the prostate. He proceeds to relentlessly torture Sam with his fingertip, massaging and manipulating that spot until the human is a whining, inarticulate pile of loose muscles and long hair. Leaning back a bit, he takes in that image with a smile, then fits his free hand loosely around Sam's throbbing, dripping cock, not stroking but rubbing his thumb lightly under the head.  
Any semblance of pride or stubbornness is thrown out the window, and Sam whines, wets his lips and begs, "Please, fuck, Crowley- oh god, oh- oh god, fuck, don't stop-"  
"Fuck," Crowley growls deep in his throat, biting at Sam's taut, heaving chest. "Oh, _Sam_ , I wish I could fuck you." He kisses sloppily down the hunter's abdomen, listening to Sam's garbled praise and increasingly high-pitched moans. "That's it, good boy, come on now."  
That's it for Sam; he comes with a frantic shout, all over his stomach and Crowley's chest, his fingers twitching and spasming and gripping the sheets so hard that they are yanked from the mattress. He's still catching his breath, waiting for the spots to clear from his vision, while Crowley rises unsteadily from the bed. The demon tugs his underwear back on, wincing at the touch of fabric against his still-sensitive groin, and goes shuffling into the nearest bathroom. He comes back a few minutes later, wearing the loosest pajama pants he could find in Sam's laundry and carrying a washcloth. Sam makes a pleased sound when the warm cloth dabs him clean, draping one arm around Crowley's waist and trying to haul him back in for more kissing.  
Crowley hesitates for a moment, looking either uncertain or exhausted, and Sam tugs at him again, fingers dipping below the low-hanging waistband of the sleep pants. The former king of hell relents, tossing the cloth aside and crawling under the blankets that Sam holds up for him.  
  



	3. Make A Little Birdhouse In Your Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh god I already have a possible sequel in mind send help.

  
Three days later, Sam comes bounding into the library with a grin that almost splits his face. He's been gone on a hunt with Dean and Cas, leaving Crowley confined by a series of wards to the rooms they've allowed him: the kitchen, half the library, and, after some petitioning from Sam, a guest bedroom. Crowley counted over a dozen ways he could escape if he'd been so inclined (fortunately, he hasn't gotten bored enough yet to try).  
  
The big ape of a hunter skids to a halt in front of Crowley, who has been reading quietly in an armchair, and scoops him into a kiss, actually lifting him wholly from the chair and squeezing the air from his lungs in an indignant _oomph_. Crowley pulls his head back and scoffs, squirming in the human's powerful arms.  
  
"Let me down, you behemoth."  
  
The snappish tone does nothing to wipe the smile from Sam's face, and even when he sets Crowley down he keeps touching him, cupping his jaw and scritching fingers through his stubble. Despite the complaints and denials, Sam knows the demon revels in any positive physical contact, leaning into it like a cat. He drags his hand up to the top of Crowley's head, rubbing at his scalp and watching his eyelids flutter in enjoyment.  
  
"Miss me?" Sam asks, chuckling.  
  
Crowley narrows his eyes, only adding to his catlike image, and ducks away from the petting. "Clearly not as much as you missed me, moose."  
  
"That's not a no," Sam points out.  
  
He gets an eyeroll. "Yes, alright, I pined away like the Lady of Shalott without your big, burly self to keep me warm."  
  
In all honesty, he's still a bit thrown by how easily and often Sam shows his affection, even around his loudly-disapproving brother. It makes Crowley suspicious, which makes him feel guilty, which in turn makes him suspicious again. He's just not built or designed to gracefully handle such fond advances. Not without expecting a knife in the back or at least some flaying, anyway.  
  
Sam tugs at his sleeve. "C'mon. I have something to show you."  
  
"Is this an attempt at seduction? Because, spoiler alert, I've seen the ending of this one. It works, but it lacks subtlety."  
  
The hunter doesn't answer, just leads Crowley down the hall, passing Castiel (he and Crowley glare at each other mostly out of habit by this point rather than actual malice) and ending up in Sam's room. On the bed is what looks like a plain black shoebox. Sam picks it up, lifts the lid and bats aside some tissue paper, then holds it out to Crowley.  
  
"I- I got you this. To use. On me, if you- if you want."  
  
Crowley stares, agog. Sam shifts a little, awkwardly holding out the box, which contains a medium-sized, lifelike dildo and a sort of harness made of soft straps, made to be fitted over the hips.  
  
When the demon continues to gape in silence, the hunter coughs and lowers his arms a little, adding, "I would've taken you along to pick it out for yourself, only Dean's still adamant about you not leaving the bunker. I got a couple other styles and, you know, sizes, in case you didn't like this one? It was a pretty interesting shopping trip, I can tell you that." He's blushing furiously now, damn him, and giving Crowley the slightest hopeful smile, dimpling his cheek. "I know it's not really the same, but I thought maybe-"  
  
Crowley's brain has no say in the matter when he suddenly lunges forward and kisses Sam.  
  
Twenty minutes later, Sam's fingers clutch at the pillow hard enough to split the seams a little, burying his chin into it and moaning luxuriously as Crowley drags three fingers in and out of him. He kicks uselessly back at the smaller man, trying to urge him on.  
  
"Crowley, come onn- nnn- _nnnnh_ -"  
  
The demon chuckles darkly, a sound that should set off all sorts of alarms in a hunter's mind but in this case only makes Sam shiver delightedly, and withdraws his fingers, much to Sam's dismay. He takes a moment to fiddle with the straps of the harness one last time, slicking the extra lube from his hand onto the dildo, before crawling closer on his knees until the rounded head of it rubs against Sam's crack.  
  
"I'd remind you that patience is a virtue, but considering the thoroughly un-virtuous situation we find ourselves in, well..."  
  
"Would you just-!" Sam barks out, jerking back into every touch.  
  
Crowley grins, hooking just the tip of a thumb into the hunter's hole and pulling up just enough to make him whimper, then finally allowing the first inch of the toy to press into him. Sam immediately bucks back, demanding more with a series of muttered curses and low sounds, and Crowley, feeling merciful, complies with a slow thrust that pushes the slippery length of him almost all the way in.  
  
Sam squirms, tiny pleading noises hitching at the back of his throat as he's filled, his own cock rubbing into the sheets below. Crowley slides deeper, to the hilt, and pauses there to slowly grind his hips into Sam's, tormenting him. The straps on this contraption are designed in such a way that they rub and slide against Crowley as he rubs against Sam, sending shudders of pleasure through them both. He moans and falls forward, jaw hanging open as he pants into Sam's shoulder blades. "Oh, fucking hell, Sam."  
  
Sam's response is mostly a broken babble of begging as his prostate is relentlessly stimulated by the deep, constant pressure. Finally he manages to gasp out, "Move, please, please, please move please oh god oh fuck-"  
  
His rambling plea is cut short by a ragged shout when Crowley suddenly obeys, hips dragging out and shoving back in with a slap, working himself into a rhythm. For a few moments, Sam is able to focus once more, as the change in angle shifts and becomes more quick, tingling jolts of dull pleasure rather than the intense onslaught of before.  He licks his lips, reaches behind himself and grasps at Crowley's arm, curling it around himself and rocking back into each thrust to give Crowley more friction. The demon groans hoarsely at this, a punched-out breathless sound, and drops his hips once more to dig directly into Sam's prostate and force all kinds of desperate noises from him.  
  
Crowley works at him in small circles of his hips, grunting low in his ear every time he rocks forward, and Sam responds with helpless, jerky sobs of ecstasy, his eyes rolling back. He bites at his lip, frantic as thick drops of pre-cum hit the bed, his thighs shaking from the exertion. Sweat drips down his nose, slicks his hair down against his neck, and Crowley laps at it, mouths at it, nuzzling wet hair aside to kiss the knob of his spine.  
  
Sam tries to choke out a warning, manages to get out, "Oh god oh god Crowley I'm gonna- I'm-" before he's coming all over the sheets, actually screaming as it overtakes him. Crowley mouths soft words of praise into his skin, encouragement, and grinds into him a few more nerve-wrecking times before he's shivering and pulsing with his own climax, crying out something in Gaelic before slumping against Sam's back.  
  
Sam whimpers again, shamelessly pleasure-drunk, and Crowley pulls out, hissing as he undoes the straps and lets the harness fall to the floor with a clunk. Immediately, Sam is on him again, kissing and wrapping him in miles of muscular limbs. Crowley lets himself be enthusiastically cuddled, a tired smile lighting his face as he settles back into the pillows.  
  
"We'll have to clean up later," he reminds Sam, closing his eyes.  
  
"Later," Sam agrees, sighing contentedly and following his lead.

 

 


End file.
